Phil Reisman: Hartsdale Pet Cemetery's place in history honored

Sep. 29, 2012

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Somewhere in my dusty old files, there is a clipping of a newspaper article I wrote about the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery where the remains of 80,000 dogs and cats — as well as those of more than a few human pet owners — are interred.

The “Peaceable Kingdom” was, and always will be, an irresistible writer’s subject. It is world famous. My piece was just another entry in a vast catalog of off-beat essays, books and films inspired by the historic cemetery that began in 1896 when the first animal, a dog, was buried in the apple orchard of a kindly veterinarian.

While driving down the hectic, heavily trafficked commercial strip of Central Avenue, it’s easy to blow right past the five-acre cemetery because it is utterly out of context in a world of gas stations and shopping malls.

It was originally the sylvan summer retreat of the aforementioned animal doctor, Samuel Johnson, whose practice was on 23rd Street in Manhattan. This was the late Victorian period when the concept of pet ownership first took hold, when animals no longer were kept merely for utilitarian purposes but were regarded sentimentally as friends and beloved family members. Johnson took one deceased pet, then another and another — and the word spread.

Today, the beautifully landscaped property is dotted with gravestones memorializing four-legged creatures of all sizes and breeds. Collectively, they comprise a single monument to unconditional love and unflagging loyalty.

Curiously, there is no sidewalk along the front of the cemetery, the entrance of which consists of a filigreed, wrought iron fence graced by a green veil of weeping willows. That, and the fact that it is hard to find a nearby place to park, contributes to a feeling that it is a magical place pushing back against the inexorable tide of time.

There are other pet cemeteries, but this one is the nation’s oldest.

It has been in continuous operation for 115 years. Google it by name and you will get 24,000 results.

Because of its history and renown, the cemetery has achieved a new and important milestone: It is now listed in the National Register of Historic Places. Of the 88,000 properties in the register, 2,698 are cemeteries, but only one — Hartsdale Pet Cemetery — is a burial ground for animals. It also is newly listed on the state Register of Historic Places.

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The twin designations will be formally celebrated Saturday. Open to the public, the 1 p.m. event will be held under a tent at the cemetery’s north entrance.

The other day, I toured the little cemetery with Ed Martin Jr., the manager and principal shareholder of the pet cemetery, whom I first interviewed in the 1980s. (Back then, neither of us had a trace of gray hair.) When I wrote a column this summer about the death of my dog, Ed wrote me a very kind condolence letter, which I mention only to stress the point that perhaps better than anyone he understands the sorrow felt by grieving pet owners — and that what he does is more than a business, but a calling.

Speaking to Ed, I found myself asking the usual questions about the cemetery, the ones he’s been asked hundreds of times by reporters and schoolchildren.

No, a circus elephant is not buried there. Neither is Rin Tin Tin or Lassie.

Yes, there is a lion cub.

And, yes, there is a horse, but only one horse. And it was cremated.

When I brought up Chips, a hero World War II dog from Pleasantville who was wounded in the act of storming an enemy pillbox, Ed anticipated my question before I could ask it.

“I’ve heard of Chips, and I don’t think I can answer your question,” he said. “I don’t know. He may be here.”

Ed has tried to untangle many old mysteries, a task that often leads to what he calls a “blank wall.” He makes no claim he can’t confirm.

Walking on the grounds, Ed pointed out some of the more interesting graves. The oldest one he’s been able to locate dates to 1899, commemorating a dog named Dotty.

Numerous celebrities buried their pets there. He showed me the headstone for Mariah Carey’s dog, which was etched with a message to “my eternal friend and guardian angel” and signed with the initial “M.”

Not far away could be seen the grave of Bonnie and Clyde, who were two dogs owned by former New York Giants football coach Allie Sherman.

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The celebrity list is long and varied, and includes Diana Ross and many others who may be less well known and whose stars have faded with time.

Ed showed me where the lion cub, Goldfleck, was buried. His small stone was brightly decorated with begonias. The story goes that in 1912 a Hungarian princess who was visiting New York saw the cub at the circus, and was so smitten that she bought him.

Somehow, she got him into the Plaza Hotel where, unfortunately, he later died. She insisted he be given a proper burial.

“I guess she was used to getting her way,” Ed said.

In another part of the cemetery he showed me a marker that held the names of numerous pets — all turtles from South America. Ed said the woman who owned them was a feisty character.

He recalled her saying, “I bet you think I’m some kind of a g--d--- nut! But if you think I’m going to flush them down the toilet, you’re nuts!”

As I said, there are human remains at the cemetery, too. Ed, who has made the cemetery the final resting place for several of his own pets, pointed out the plot he has reserved for his wife and him. His parents and in-laws already are buried there.

Getting listed on the national register will let Ed apply for government grants that can be used to perform maintenance chores at the cemetery. Upkeep gets expensive.

He told me he was looking forward to Saturday’s ceremony. On hand will be Greenburgh Supervisor Paul Feiner and Assemblyman Tom Abinanti, D-Greenburgh, who has a pet buried there.

Ed joked that maybe President Barack Obama would show up as well.

That may sound absurd, but really, can you think of a better way to get votes?